


And I'll play my part

by maybethrice



Series: Those who favor fire [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Arranging Marriages, Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Multi, Negotiations, Political Alliances, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 22:17:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11723703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybethrice/pseuds/maybethrice
Summary: It need not be one or the other: that the North should kneel or that they should be left to their fate. Even this cold, barren place is her home. Even these are her people.Sansa pays Daenerys a visit and negotiates.





	And I'll play my part

**Author's Note:**

> The first part of what I hope will be a multi-story series in which Jon and Dany unite the North and the South through marriage, Sansa is their advisor, buffer, and political mind behind the throne. As a heads up, this is meant to be a Dany/Jon/Sansa story! So, hopefully that's your jam.

Dany remembers her first and only winter before this one. It had been stormy and cold in Pentos, and she remembers complaining about a chill to Ser William. It is nothing like the North of this strange country she longed to call home. It is nothing like the people of this frozen place, who tell her that this is hardly the real bite of winter. 

_This too is my home,_ Dany reminds herself when she wraps herself in heavy furs and climbs to the parapets of Winterfell. Around the keep are men and women and children working to prepare for winter, determinedly ignoring the bitter cold that fills Dany’s lungs like spikes. _These too are my people._

Rather, she hopes they will be. There is the Long Night ahead of them still, with the stories of cold so deadly it may steal the breath of a hale warrior in his sleep. Dany has seen the proof herself and, now that she has come north herself, she knows she could never abandon them to cold and the cruelest death imaginable. Not even for their rebellion. All those years she feared assassin’s knives, and it is no Usurper who most threatens her reign.

 _Do you mean to save us from the dead, Daenerys Targaryen?_ a young lady demanded of Dany in the throne room of Winterfell, barely tall enough to reach the shoulders of her seated peers. But it had not been the girl’s audacity that startled Dany, only the standing bear on the banner hung above her head that proclaimed her Lady Mormont, cousin to her old bear. 

_This too is my home. These too are my people._

The sound of someone in light boots mounting the stone steps behind her causes Dany to turn, but she is not altogether surprised to see that her company is the fire-framed countenance of the Lady of Winterfell. For an instant, Dany expects her to curtsy and – yes, for a moment it looks as though Lady Sansa expects to, as well. An old habit, Dany thinks, and her heart breaks unexpectedly for the young woman before her. 

But she greets her coolly, turning her face back to the fields of snow beyond the walls of Winterfell. “Lady Stark.” 

“Your Grace,” answers Lady Sansa, and Dany cannot help looking back at her with an eyebrow lifted curiously. Her companion understands immediately, coming to stand beside her. “I am a northerner,” she explains. “Jon is my king, but there is no reason at all to be discourteous to the visiting queen of another kingdom.”

“I mean to be queen of the North, as well,” insists Dany, for there is no reason to mislead anyone of her intentions. “I understand it may not seem as if I am anything but a foreign conquerer, but I take my role as protector of the realm quite seriously, Lady Stark.”

Lady Sansa does not answer that, her eyes fixed on the yard below. Jon Snow has removed his cloak and stripped to his leather armor, drawn his sword for drills as though he is still a soldier. A massive, white wolf stalks the edges of the yard, bigger than a horse, nearly as big as Drogon had been when they came to Slaver’s Bay. However she may long for the raven from Oldtown to be true, that she may not be the last Targaryen, Jon Snow resembles nothing so much as a Stark.

“You mean to marry my brother,” says Lady Sansa from beside her, now watching Dany with a piercingly shrewd quality to her lovely face.

“He does not mean to marry me. And if what I am told is true, he is no brother of yours,” Dany says, just loud enough to be heard over the sound of the keep. To her immense surprise, Lady Sansa looks back to Jon with a sad, longing expression that Dany recognizes, wishes she did not. Unable to bear the rawness of Lady Sansa’s emotion, Dany looks away. 

“Your Grace–”

“Lady Stark, I do not need your addresses. Speak plainly with me.” 

“Very well,” she presses without delay. “Do you intend to abandon the North to our fate? Will you defend our home with us? Endure the cold of winter with us? Lay your life down with us if you must? Will you demand obedience, or will you make yourself beloved?”

Dany is no fool, she does not think that Lady Sansa means only the North. But would this frozen, northern lady accept it if she only promised with words to cherish Jon and to defend his home? All this time, Dany and all her court believed that Ser Davos served Jon as his Hand, and she now sees the woman who is his most trusted advisor. Tyrion told her of a meek, silly girl, but Dany tries to imagine that frightened child remaining in the woman who stands fearlessly before her now.

_She is no more that child than I am a frightened girl who died on the grass sea. I admire her._

Dany says, “This is my home. These are my people. I would do so a thousand times if it would bring peace.” 

For a few long beats of her heart, fluttering angrily in her chest, Dany is sure Lady Sansa does not believe her. There is no way to convince her, except only to fulfill her word. And then Lady Sansa folds her gloved hands at her front and inclines her head gracefully in Dany’s direction. 

“I will speak with Jon,” she says at last, her hard expression softly crumbling when she pulls her cloak closer around her shoulders and returns to the stairs.


End file.
